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Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley
Percy Bysshe Shelley (/ˈpɜrsi ˈbɪʃ ˈʃɛli/;[2] 4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822) was one of the major English Romantic poets, and is regarded by some critics as amongst the finest lyric poets in the English language. A radical in his poetry as well as his political and social views, Shelley did not achieve fame during his lifetime, but recognition for his poetry grew steadily following his death. Shelley was a key member of a close circle of visionary poets and writers that included Lord Byron; Leigh Hunt; Thomas Love Peacock; and his own second wife, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein. His close circle of admirers, however, included some progressive thinkers of the day, including his future father-in-law, the philosopher William Godwin. Though Shelley's poetry and prose output remained steady throughout his life, most publishers and journals declined to publish his work for fear of being arrested themselves for blasphemy or sedition. Life[edit] Education[edit] Marriage[edit] Byron[edit] Related:  Writing/WritersResources & ArticlesHeroes

Frankenstein Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, is a novel written by English author Mary Shelley about eccentric scientist Victor Frankenstein, who creates a grotesque creature in an unorthodox scientific experiment. Shelley started writing the story when she was eighteen, and the novel was published when she was twenty. The first edition was published anonymously in London in 1818. Shelley had travelled through Europe in 1814, journeying along the river Rhine in Germany with a stop in Gernsheim which is just 17 km (10 mi) away from Frankenstein Castle, where two centuries before an alchemist was engaged in experiments.[1][2][3] Later, she traveled in the region of Geneva (Switzerland)—where much of the story takes place—and the topics of galvanism and other similar occult ideas were themes of conversation among her companions, particularly her lover and future husband, Percy Shelley. Summary[edit] A variety of different editions Captain Walton's introductory frame narrative[edit]

The Egg Author's Note: The Egg is also available in the following languages: The Egg By: Andy Weir You were on your way home when you died. It was a car accident. And that’s when you met me. “What… what happened?” “You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. “There was a… a truck and it was skidding…” “Yup,” I said. “I… I died?” “Yup. You looked around. “More or less,” I said. “Are you god?” “Yup,” I replied. “My kids… my wife,” you said. “What about them?” “Will they be all right?” “That’s what I like to see,” I said. You looked at me with fascination. “Don’t worry,” I said. “Oh,” you said. “Neither,” I said. “Ah,” you said. “All religions are right in their own way,” I said. You followed along as we strode through the void. “Nowhere in particular,” I said. “So what’s the point, then?” “Not so!” I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. “Oh lots. “Wait, what?” “Sure. “Just me?

Pale Fire – The Floating Library By John Shade I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate: Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass Hang all the furniture above the grass, And how delightful when a fall of snow Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so As to make chair and bed exactly stand Upon that snow, out in that crystal land! Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque, A dull dark white against the day’s pale white And abstract larches in the neutral light. And then the gradual and dual blue As night unites the viewer and the view, And in the morning, diamonds of frost Express amazement: Whose spurred feet have crossed From left to right the blank page of the road? Reading from left to right in winter’s code: A dot, an arrow pointing back; repeat: Dot, arrow pointing back . . .

Neil Gaiman Mary Shelley Mary Shelley (née Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin; 30 August 1797 – 1 February 1851) was an English novelist, short story writer, dramatist, essayist, biographer, and travel writer, best known for her Gothic novel Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus (1818). She also edited and promoted the works of her husband, the Romantic poet and philosopher Percy Bysshe Shelley. Her father was the political philosopher William Godwin, and her mother was the philosopher and feminist Mary Wollstonecraft. Mary Godwin's mother died when she was eleven days old; afterwards, she and her older half-sister, Fanny Imlay, were raised by her father. In 1816, the couple famously spent a summer with Lord Byron, John William Polidori, and Claire Clairmont near Geneva, Switzerland, where Mary conceived the idea for her novel Frankenstein. Biography Early life Page from William Godwin's journal recording "Birth of Mary, 20 minutes after 11 at night" (left column, four rows down) Percy Bysshe Shelley Bath and Marlow

Ralph Waldo Emerson Ralph Waldo Emerson (May 25, 1803 – April 27, 1882) was an American essayist, lecturer, and poet, who led the Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century. He was seen as a champion of individualism and a prescient critic of the countervailing pressures of society, and he disseminated his thoughts through dozens of published essays and more than 1,500 public lectures across the United States. He remains among the linchpins of the American romantic movement,[3] and his work has greatly influenced the thinkers, writers and poets that have followed him. When asked to sum up his work, he said his central doctrine was "the infinitude of the private man."[4] Emerson is also well known as a mentor and friend of fellow Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau.[5] Early life, family, and education[edit] Emerson was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on May 25, 1803,[6] son of Ruth Haskins and the Rev. In 1826, faced with poor health, Emerson went to seek out warmer climates. While in St.

TUP Online Welcome to TUP Online's resources on theosophy, including books by Blavatsky, Judge, Tingley, Purucker, and others; introductory manuals on theosophy; theosophical magazines and glossaries; material on the world's sacred traditions; and more. Copyrighted material in this site may be downloaded free of charge for personal use; except for brief excerpts it may not be reproduced or transmitted in whole or in part for commercial or other use in any form without prior permission from Theosophical University Press. For ease in searching, accents have been removed from most English-language html editions of these texts. PDF files retain accents and searches do not require them. Print editions of most of the titles listed below may be ordered from the online Theosophical University Press Catalog. Theosophical University Press, publishing and distributing quality theosophical literature since 1886: PO Box C, Pasadena, CA 91109-7107 USA; e-mail: tupress@theosociety.org; voice: (626) 798-3378. H.

On Edgar Allan Poe by Marilynne Robinson Edgar Allan Poe was and is a turbulence, an anomaly among the major American writers of his period, an anomaly to this day. He both amazed and antagonized his contemporaries, who could not dismiss him from the first rank of writers, though many felt his work to be morally questionable and in dubious taste, and though he scourged them in print regularly in the course of producing a body of criticism that is sometimes flatly vindictive and often brilliant. It seems to have been true of Poe that no one could look at him without seeing more than they would wish or he could tolerate. His clothing was always neat and genteel and very shabby. The writer Thomas Wentworth Higginson said Poe had “the look of over-sensitiveness which when uncontrolled may prove more debasing than coarseness.” Poe published The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket in 1838, relatively early in his career. The word that recurs most crucially in Poe’s fictions is horror. Poe’s mind was by no means commonplace.

Mary Wollstonecraft Mary Wollstonecraft (/ˈwʊlstən.krɑːft/; 27 April 1759 – 10 September 1797) was an eighteenth-century English writer, philosopher, and advocate of women's rights. During her brief career, she wrote novels, treatises, a travel narrative, a history of the French Revolution, a conduct book, and a children's book. Wollstonecraft is best known for A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), in which she argues that women are not naturally inferior to men, but appear to be only because they lack education. She suggests that both men and women should be treated as rational beings and imagines a social order founded on reason. Until the late 20th century, Wollstonecraft's life, which encompassed several unconventional personal relationships, received more attention than her writing. After Wollstonecraft's death, her widower published a Memoir (1798) of her life, revealing her unorthodox lifestyle, which inadvertently destroyed her reputation for almost a century. Biography Early life

Walt Whitman Walter "Walt" Whitman (/ˈhwɪtmən/; May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist and journalist. A humanist, he was a part of the transition between transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse.[1] His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described as obscene for its overt sexuality. Born in Huntington on Long Island, Whitman worked as a journalist, a teacher, a government clerk, and—in addition to publishing his poetry—was a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War. Whitman's sexuality is often discussed alongside his poetry. Whitman was concerned with politics throughout his life. Life and work Early life Early career After his teaching attempts, Whitman went back to Huntington, New York to found his own newspaper, the Long Islander. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, circa 1915

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